Le Loup et L'Agneau
by le-ouiaboo
Summary: France/Liechtenstein: for the prompt, France/anyone, cake, just fluff. De-anon from the kink meme from several years ago, ergo the slightly off characterization of Liech, my bad.


Le Loup et L'agneau (The wolf and the lamb)

* * *

A bell tinkled sweetly, heralding a visitor to this small bakery. Nervously, and understandably so, Liechtenstein called out a soft "_Bonjour_" from the doorway, almost hoping her host had forgotten about the appointment. But she had traveled all this way by herself, and it was for a very important purpose, so she gathered her courage and stepped into the shop.

The bakery had closed early, the family who owned it having left for the afternoon, and without customers sitting at the tables or ordering pastries, the atmosphere seemed peaceful and calm. Clearly France was thinking of her when he chose this particular address instead of a much fancier locale in Paris. And with its pale yellow walls and baskets of wildflowers by the window, glass cases unfortunately empty of the exquisite pastries that must have been on display, nothing could have been more pleasant or comforting.

Only a few moments later, France emerged from within the kitchen and into the front of the bakery, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Ah, Liechtenstein, I apologize for the wait," he said, smiling warmly. "I had something to attend to, but you have my full attention now." He stepped out from behind the counter, motioning for her to come closer. "How may I assist you?"

Shyly, Liechtenstein stood up and smoothed the front of her skirt before meeting him by the cash register, feeling somewhat shabby next to France in his immaculate white chef's jacket. She hesitated before starting, since her request sounded silly in her mind, but he had replied to her email within thirty minutes of her clicking "send," so that meant he must surely be able to help her, and wanted to as well.

"Thank you, France. I-I know you must be busy, and I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me regarding this." She blushed deeply, bringing a hand up to her face in embarrassment as she continued. "If it is not too much trouble, I hope you could show me how to decorate a cake," she whispered.

"Of course, my dear, anything you wish," France replied, patting the top of her head affectionately, causing her to blush even more. "But may I ask what is wrong with Austria or Germany's style? Why ask me, when their tastes must surely coincide with yours more?" Seeing as she must have been warned about his wicked ways…

"Oh, this is for… for my brother. I really wanted to give Switzerland something special and…"

"And more aesthetically pleasing?" he finished, which caused her to giggle despite her nervousness. Actually, Germany and Austria produced delicious recipes which France had often borr- _incorporated_ into his own cuisine, but they tended to focus on satisfying one's stomach rather than delighting one's eyes. His cakes, on the other hand, were works of art, as well as delicious.

"Please, follow me, Liechtenstein, and we can discuss this further in the kitchen. Perhaps you will be able to learn something useful?"

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much!" she answered gratefully, tagging along after him.

After she put on an apron and washed her hands, Liechtenstein watched in rapt fascination as France showed her what he had been working on. He brought out a small culinary grade blow torch, and with a few deft movements, finished melding the last few petals onto a nearly completed rose.

"Th-this is made of sugar?" she asked, hardly believing that such a delicate, glass-like sculpture could be crafted out of something so mundane.

"_Oui_, it is just sugar, syrup, water, some coloring, nothing more. Unfortunately, sugar pulling and sugar blowing are difficult techniques and can take years to master."

She looked slightly disappointed at that, so he smiled and handed her the flower.

"Here, as a reminder that I should teach you sometime, _ma cherie._"

Liechtenstein stared at him in astonishment, and then wistfully set the rose back down on the counter. "France, I can not accept this. It is so pretty, I would feel terrible if I broke it!"

"Tell me if it breaks or melts, and I will make you another, or as many as you would like," he assured her airily. "But let us move onto something more important. Tell me about this cake you want to make, and why you wish to impress your brother."

She found it difficult to explain at first, since she was hardly aware herself of what emotion inspired her to suddenly buy a train ticket to the French countryside. It turned out that Switzerland was kept busy regarding the recent international scandals, and as per his frugal nature, ate only to keep himself alive while he worked. Liechtenstein thought of making him something nice to eat, and eventually decided to bake a cake simple enough for him to enjoy without guilt, but pretty enough to show how much she cared for his happiness. Secretly, France had his doubts that Switzerland could be happy about anything, but he only smiled and nodded at the girl, who was brimming over with sisterly affection.

"That is a very admirable sentiment!" France murmured thoughtfully once she finished. "Since we want to make something for Switzerland, it would make sense to work with chocolate first, _non_?"

Without any warning, he placed his hands over her smaller ones, inspecting the slender pale fingers with professional interest. "Hmm, your hands are cooler and more delicate than mine, so I think this would suit you perfectly. Let's begin, shall we?"

They started by rolling out a lump of chocolate paste, then cutting out petal and leaf shapes and joining them with melted chocolate, to form various roses, lilies and daisies, whatever flower they could imagine. Encouraged by the ease of making chocolate flowers from the paste, Liechtenstein asked if there was anything else she could try. Grinning, France showed her a photo album of the bakery's past creations, the small collection of candy pieces, including carved chocolate and molded chocolate. Some of them looked simple, abstract marbled slices and fanciful swirls, others were realistic, graceful birds and flowers and even buildings, far more beautiful than the straightforward chocolate bars she often ate.

"You can eat all of this?" she asked in awe.

"Of course! Though I would not recommend eating an actual sculpture, everything you see is edible."

Liechtenstein took careful notes of whatever advice France had to offer regarding cake decoration, though eventually he had to defer to Belgium's superior knowledge of the actual ingredient itself.

"I only make the chocolate look beautiful, _mon agneau_, the rest I leave to your brother and my sister's experienced hands."

"Oh, but this is still incredible, and so much more than I ever expected to learn. Brother would be so impressed, I think."

Sensing that Liechtenstein was looking a little tired, France suggested they take a break, and she gladly agreed.

The two of them took seats on a table by the window, basking in the late afternoon light. France got himself chardonnay to drink, and he poured Liechtenstein a glass of sparkling fruit juice. They toasted to chocolate, of course, and Liechtenstein had to giggle at her daring to act like an adult. Too bad her brother was not there to see.

After ducking into the refrigerator, France triumphantly set a plate with a slice of chocolate cake in front of Liechtenstein, the dessert resting on a lattice of solid dark chocolate, topped with a generous dollop of whipped crème fraiche and a sugar-frosted strawberry.

It was almost too lovely to eat, so France resorted to putting a forkful of cake right in front of her lips and Liechtenstein was forced to open her mouth and taste it. There was an explosion of rich, heady flavor upon her tongue as she bit down, dark and chocolatey, with a warm spicy undercurrent, and for a long moment, the only sound she made was a barely audible squeak of pleasure.

"Try this one next," France offered, pushing the first plate out of the way and replacing it with another plate, this time holding a slice of golden cake layered between so much cream it threatened to fall over, drizzled with syrup and flaked almonds. Liechtenstein needed no encouragement to taste a generous forkful, smiling in bliss at the combination of flavors and textures, nutty and creamy and sweet, suffusing her entire body with warmth. Even her own people's prosperity and high quality of life would not have been enough to prepare her to handle such indulgence, and she could feel a hot flush creeping up her cheeks and ears.

"I-I could never make cakes as perfect as these," she admitted quietly, realizing just how inexperienced she must seem to the older nation.

"That is not true," France disagreed. "Even the least attractive cake would seem beautiful to the recipient if you make it with care and love." He knew his cooking was the best in the world precisely because he never forgot to add that special, vital ingredient. "Unlike chocolate or cream or eggs or flour, you can never run out of love."

It was so over-the-top romantic, so France-like, Liechtenstein could not help but laugh. "You are right, of course." She sighed happily and did not refuse the third slice of cake he set in front of her, this time more chocolate, accompanied by a mouthwatering aroma of coffee - his personal favorite cake recipe.

France moved his chair closer to Liechtenstein's, sipping his wine as he observed her finishing the cake, admiring her sweet innocence and subdued yet genuine joy. Finally, she dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and he could not help but lean over and place his hand under her chin, staring deeply into those wide green eyes, breathing in her light, girlish scent. Feeling almost faint, she opened her mouth to try to say something, but she was dazzled by France's serious, handsome expression, the way the sunlight glanced off of his tied-back hair, the warmth of his fingers on her skin that threatened to set her already warm body on fire. Liechtenstein closed her eyes, felt his lips brush against hers, tasting faintly of wine, and she hesitated one second too long before pulling away.

"Oh, France," she breathed, "I don't think my brother would like that."

"Certainly not if it came from me," he teased softly, kissing her once more on her forehead. "Tell me, what would he like, then?"

She paused and then kissed him lightly on the cheek, which he certainly did not expect. "He would like me to go home, and he would not like to know that I spoke to you."

When France saw her off at the train station, her thin arms full of boxes and bags, she turned around before boarding the train and smiled at him angelically. "Someday, when I am older, I would like to return and learn more from you, France."

"I would be glad to teach you all I know. You are welcome any time, Liechtenstein."

* * *

[epilogue]

"I flew over as soon as I could. What happened?" Canada asked, looking dreadfully worried for his father figure's life.

"Apparently Switzerland shot him for getting his little sister inebriated and trying to seduce her," America replied.

"Oh. Er…" Canada tried to look concerned, but France doing something as outrageous as this was really nothing new.

"You know, I really should look into how he survives a direct headshot from an SG-550 assault rifle…"

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here," France grumbled, disappointed that the sexy nurse was assigned to another ward.


End file.
